Snuggles, Sand, and Stars
by JustDrinkTea
Summary: You've been waiting for weeks just for this camping trip with John. And amazingly, it looks like everything might actually go according to plan. JohnDave, DaveJohn, Pepsicola, Hammertime


You've been planning this trip for weeks. _Weeks. _Looking at it now, you can easily admit to yourself that you really didn't need to put so much thought into these next couple of days, but the thought is what counts.

There's really nothing flashy about it; you've got a tent, some old sleeping bags, sandwiches, flashlights, nothing really too technological or luxurious. But that's exactly how you want it to be- just a trip for you and John. No distractions. No parental figures- Bro included. No Jade and Rose. Just you and John.

And you are really fucking excited.

By the time you've loaded up your pick-up truck full of gear, you've already checked the weather four times (sunny); texted John at least thrice (yup, he's still alive); and gone over your list of supplies six times over (they have yet to be eaten by a bear and/or raccoon). Your paranoia is starting to irritate Bro, and after you have him configure the GPS for the fourth time, hes all but kicking you out.

It isn't like you to stress or freak out, but this trip has managed to string you pretty high. The worst part is that you don't really know how to calm yourself down because you don't often run into this problem.

But the second John slides into the passenger's seat, all your tension melts away. Good to know he has that effect on you.

As soon as you hit the highway, you start up some tunes. You've built a playlist just for the occasion; it's composed mostly of the song "500 Miles"- as is road trip tradition- along with several other classics. Because John refused to let you play only the one song the duration of the car ride, you also added "Summer Nights," "Old Time Rock 'n Roll," "Rocky Raccoon," that weird song about drinking limes in coconuts, and whatever else you had sitting on your computer.

Naturally, the first few hours consisted of nothing more than the two of you belting out every lyric with the windows rolled down. You like Johns voice. It's nice.

He says he likes yours and you punch him in the arm.

You pull over for gas somewhere in the middle of nowhere so the two of you can get out and stretch your legs a bit. You'd like to get back on the road as soon as the tank is full, but John decides you both need some apple juice and runs into the store to grab a couple of bottles. While the brand name isn't one you've ever heard of, and the label has a questionable, hick-like quality to it, the juice itself is sweet enough for your liking and that's all you really care about.

Another two hours and the GPS happily announces your arrival. You guide the truck down a dirt road, which leads up to an old parking lot surrounded by even older pine trees. You're pleased as punch when you see you vehicle is the only one in the lot. You do your best to hide your excitement, but you can tell from the smirk on John's face that some of it is sipping through.

You step out of the car before he can say anything.

The air smells fresh ad the sky is as blue as ever. In the distance you can hear the sound of crashing waves, and it's at that point you know this weekend is going to go just as you hoped it would.

John joins you outside, wrinkling his nose a bit. "We're camping out on the beach?" he asks skeptically. "I would've expected something a little less cliche from you, Dave Strider."

His unimpressed reaction rolls off you easily. "Calm your tits," you respond, unfazed. "And don't get ahead of yourself. You should know me better than that by now. We aren't sleeping on the beach, dude. You'll see."

He sends you a questioning stare, but you ignore him and instead start unpacking the trunk. Thankfully, almost everything you've brought along is able to fit either in or on the hiking backpacks you begged your bro to pay for.

As creepy as it is, puppet porn sure does earn him a lot of cash. And you've never been so grateful.

Both of you shoulder a pack and grab a sleeping bag. You lead him away from the truck and towards the beach. There's only a few fee of tress between the parking lot and the lake- water fresh and sparkling.

You glance over at John. "You brought your trunks, right?"

"You never told me to bring my trunks," he answers accusingly.

"Hm. Well skinny dipping's more fun, anyway."

He rolls his eyes, but doesn't disagree, which you make sue to note for later. For now, you're concerned about getting set up so you can just tell John to "come on", and head right.

Your eyes scan the land and the dunes piled high above the beach, the sand freckled with tall grass. The dunes are like little sand mountains and you can't help but love it. But you're not just looking for enjoyment, you remind yourself; you're looking to find the perfect hilltop.

And after about ten minutes of shuffling through the sand, you find it.

"Wait here," you tell John. You don't wait for him to ask why he's waiting, or where you're going, you just go. Clutching your sleeping bag tightly against your chest, you flashstep about a third of the way up the dune. Then another. Then up to the top. You're careful about where you land with each flash; you don't want to displace too much sand.

The very top of the dune is almost flat. Sure there are some dips here and there, but for the most part, it's just as perfect as you expected it to be. You drop your things and run back down to meet John at the bottom.

"I'll take those," you say quickly, grabbing his sleeping bag and pulling the pack from his shoulders. Before he can react, you're already halfway back up the dune.

By the time you've met him again, he's a little peeved; you know he doesn't really like things done without explanation, but he's just going to have to deal for a little while. Instead of flashstepping him up, you simply take his hand and start climbing with him. While you know this will make him feel better it's not the entire reason for taking the long way; last time you tried flashstepping with him, he threw up.

It's not exactly how either of you want to start out a trip.

By about 8:30, you've popped up the tent, unrolled the sleeping bags, spread out a sheet over the sand, and have made some soup and hot chocolate with the help of a camping stove and some matches.

"So this is it, then?" John asks in between bites. "We spend the night on a dune? That's the big thing you were so excited about?"

"Hey, didn't I tell you not to get ahead of yourself? Jesus, don't you ever trust me? And after all I've done for you. I am wounded, John." Dramatically, you clasp a hand over your heart. "Fatally wounded, even. I think I may need CPR. Oh god. I see the light."

John snorts, raising an eyebrow. "How is CPR supposed to help heal a fatal wound?"

You glare at him from beneath your shades. "I don't know. Just shut up and fucking kiss me, will ya? That's what I was hinting at, you know."

"Wow way to be blunt." He kisses you anyway. It's short and sweet, and he tastes like Campbell's chicken noodle soup, but you're not complaining. "I have to admit, though," he says as he pulls away, going back to eating. "You did a pretty good job, dude." He looks out over the water. Waves crash against the sand and the sun has long turned a dark orange, its light reflecting over the water.

"Just wait till it gets dark. That's really what I'm looking forward to, y'know."

He glances over at you again, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"You'l see," you answer, waving a dismissive hand as you do so, turning your attention back to your own food.

With full and warm stomachs, you two lay out on the sheet, simply content to be in each other's company. With the sun almost below the horizon, you deemed it safe enough o take your shades ff. John took off his ow glasses so you weren't alone, and- while you'll never tell him so- you appreciate it.

He sighs happily next to you and turns so he's facing you.

You do the same, inching closer to him. With the sun disappearing, the temperature has dropped a good fifteen degrees or so, and you know it'll keep descending. You expect it to be in the 50's throughout the duration of the night, so you made sure to dig out a couple of hoodies before it got too dark.

The two of you lay huddled in each other's sweatshirts. Both of you were too lazy to put on anything warmer than a pair of shorts, so your legs tangled with each other for warmth. Your head rests on your arm, your eyes closed contentedly as John idly plays with your bangs. You feel him suddenly bore of this. He starts tracing lines along your face with his finger- around your eyes, down your cheek, and across your jawline. He draws back up to your forehead and drags the digit down the bridge of your nose, poking the cartilage at the tip when he reaches it.

You can't help but smile just the tiniest bit. An eye peeks a look at him. He's just laying there grinning at you.

He takes his hand back and lays it in the smalls space between you. But then he decides it would be more comfortable on your waist. As he places his hand on you, he scooches closer, effectively closing the distance.

"Hey," you say, looking into his eyes.

"Sup, coolkid?" His smile has yet to leave his face, and his irises sparkle with delight.

You take the hand that isn't under your head and run your fingers along his cheek before moving so that you're caressing him gently, thumb moving in slow circles against his skin. You never get any opportunities to be this kind of person at home- what with Bro's cameras and and bursting into your room every five minutes and Dad "eat some cookies, boys!" Egbert- so you're going to make the mos of this weekend and be as loving and possessive and gentle as you fucking want, dammit.

John doesn't seem to mind this side of you in the least. He relaxes under your hand, closing his own eyes. It's then that you lean in, capturing his lips with your own.

He doesn't jump. He's not surprised. He just answers you silently, moving his moth against yours. His lips are warm, soft, and mold perfectly against yours. There are no tongues, no obscene noises, just the sound of a heavier breathing and rustling as John attempts to pull you closer, tugging at the neckline of your sweatshirt.

You oblige and inch forward, moving your hand to rest against the back of his head.

You pull away from him for less than a second, his lips trying to follow yours as they move. Again you kiss hi, but it's nothing more than a peck. Then you move in for another. And another. And another. an once more, this time holding it for just a second longer. Your lips hover over him as you break, his hot breath mingling with yours in short, quiet pants. You press your forehead against his, squishing your noses together. Nose contact is something you try to avoid, but never really minded.

You can feel his gaze on you and you open your eyes. It's hard to focus on him with his face so close, but it isn't too much of an issue; you would never have a problem with being so close to him.

"You never told me what happens at dark," he murmurs, a hint of a smile still in his voice.

You glance up at the sky. It's dark enough now, no doubt about it. "Just look up," you say simply.

He pulls away from you an shifts so he can sit up comfortably. He shoots you a look, but gazes up anyway. "Oh _wow_."

You really wish you had a camera to capture the look on his face. He looks completely dumbfounded, and you can tell that he suddenly feels small; that's how you usually feel when you look up at billions of stars, anyway. You sit up yourself and join him, putting a hand over his.

"I didn't... There are just so... Wow..."

Slowly, you lay back down, this tie on your back so you can watch the twinkling lights above. You tug on his arm, trying to get him to lay with you. It takes him a moment to register your touch, but eventually he joins you.

You point out some of the planets and constellations you know how to identify and he draws your attention to every shooting star that crosses his vision. And with the sky being so clear and clean here in the middle of nowhere, there are a lot of them to be seen. You don't wish on any of them, but you can tell he does- on every one. His eyes follow then until they're out of sight, and he squeezes you hand whenever one passes by. You don't bother asking what it is he wishes for, though; you know John well enough to know he won't tell you in a million years.

Maybe he will in a million and two.

After a while, his excitement wears down into exhaustion, and you follow. After a long day, you both crash. The tent is forgotten, as well as the sleeping bags, and the two of you sleep close, tangled and wrapped in each other.

It's perfect.


End file.
